The Spider's Shield
by Kurohane Ookami
Summary: It only takes one botched mission for Natasha to lose Clint. Now, she's being cooped up under the scrutiny of everyone she'd rather avoid, with so many emotions that she doesn't quite know how to cope with, and nowhere to turn. But somehow, the all too personal, prying Captain manages to get past her defenses, and she's not all sure if she'll be able to cope. Post Avengers.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I'd just like to say a major Happy Birthday to one of my lovely ladies! I hope you enjoyed it while you could because here comes a hell of a lot of pain and hurt and angst. Just like you asked for. Maybe not in the way that I interpreted it, but ah well.**

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own Avengers.

**-;-**

"Nat."

There was a knock on the door, and then a blond headed man stuck his nose into the room cautiously, realizing full well that given the lack of light, he could potentially be in quite a bit of danger.

"Nat…."

"Barton, I swear to God." The crimson haired woman moaned beneath her sheets, shifting just enough so that the other assassin could see the narrowed slits that she had for eyes. "You call me that one more time and your intestines are going to be used as Christmas decorations."

The archer shrugged, holding up his hands in a sign of peace, even as the slightest of smirks threatened to take over his face. "Easy, Widow. Just came in to tell you that we just got new marching orders. Korea."

The redhead sighed, and a moment later Natasha was pulling on a pair of slimming black jeans and a loose grey shirt over the sports bra and boxer style underwear. She didn't bother doing anything with her hair, given that it was curly as it was and would most likely do its own thing anyway, so she simply ran a hand through it as she grabbed her boots and pulled them on.

Clint stood by, leaning against the door frame and admiring the rather nice view while he could. After all, the two of them were going to be in their usual distant roles in a matter of hours- no time for screwing around when it could mean that one of them could die.

"Any information on the target?" Natasha asked coolly, flipping her hair back up and out of her face as she stood, pulling the sheets neatly back up the way that they'd been found.

"Nope. Briefing's on the flight over." The archer replied with a shrug.

"Of course it is." The redhead muttered. "You put the knives back in my bag last night?"

"Of course." Clint said, sounding mildly offended. "I'm an idiot, not suicidal. Why would I ever forget your knives when I know what would happen to me later?"

Natasha said nothing, though it looked as though she wanted to say something less than pleasant on the subject, and instead glanced over the room once before flicking her wrist towards the door in order to herd the archer out. He did so with little fuss, and she followed, closing the door behind her.

The rest of their temporary home was bare. The only thing that possibly hinted at them even being there were the two well-sized bags laying in front of the large window overlooking the city, both of which were packed and ready to go.

"So, bets?" the blond asked casually, bending down to pick up their bags, tossing the redhead's over to her with practiced ease.

It was something of a running joke to them, making bets on how the mission would go. See if they could guess what was going to be in store before briefings. Clint, surprisingly enough, was the one who had won the majority of them so far, though the numbers that separated the feat were few.

"Well, short notice, possibly a gang or a branch of the mafia given that we're being briefed on the way." Natasha said, hauling her bag over her shoulder. "Either that or protection detail."

"I'm thinking protection detail with a fairly reasonable chance at a public threat to said person, who could be from a well off company or family." Clint countered, adjusting his own bag. "You good?"

"Yep. Let's go." The redhead replied calmly, moving over to the window and pulling it open before climbing out onto the fire escape and disappearing from sight. Clint sighed, realizing that he was the one who had to close the window this time, before following suit, pressing down carefully and listening for the click as the pane of glass settled into place. That done, he leaned over the rather unsteady railing and looked for Natasha. Of course, she was already halfway to the ground, and they were about thirty stories up, give or take.

Judging the distance and the degree that he would have to shift if he were to jump, the archer decided against it and instead took off down the stairs, using his agility to swing from the bars to the outside of the stairs, easily descending down the rather high height with little discomfort. Honestly, he preferred height. There wasn't quite anything like it, really. The only thing that could make his love of heights any better were if he were out in the middle of nowhere, perched somewhere where he knew no one would be able to touch him with his bow as his only company.

As soon as he'd leapt, it was over, and his feet hit the ground softly in the back alley that the fire escape backed out onto. Natasha was already mounting her black motorcycle, helmet firmly in place and bag slung over her shoulder and across her ribs so that there would be little resistance from the wind, and as he stretched, she gestured with her hand to the other bike. Clint didn't need to see behind the tinted helmet to know that she was furrowing her brows in slight irritation at his lack of urgency, but then again, that was just the way that the redheaded assassin was.

Sauntering over to his bike, Clint pulled on his helmet and quickly revved up the black beauty, taking off past Natasha and knowing that the woman would follow him until she deemed it necessary to pass him. Which would probably be as soon as they hit an open stretch of road. Which, surprisingly enough, wasn't all that hard to find if one knew where to look.

There was silence in the helmet, save for the faint rumbling of the wind as the pair sped through the streets of God knew what city they'd settled into for the time being. Somewhere in India- they knew that much. After a while everything just blended together, becoming nothing but another plane ticket, another temporary home, another something. To anyone else, it would seem like a hell for them to give up everything at the drop of a hat and migrate somewhere else, but to the pair of assassins, it was something that they'd been raised to be numb towards. And it worked; to an extent. Natasha had no problems, of course, seeing as it was driven into her so heavily for so long, but as for Clint…

He liked seeing all the new places, and he occasionally got attached to one place more than another. Several times, he'd commented upon it to Natasha, to which the redhead only snorted and continued to sharpen her knives. Not that it really managed to get to him- Clint didn't take many things to heart, and Natasha and her mannerisms were as always, exempt.

Speaking of the redhead…

Clint swerved to dodge a possible accidental move from Natasha as she pulled ahead of him in a burst of speed, but as she turned to glance over her shoulder at him, Clint knew that it had been very much purposeful. Mind, it wasn't like he was about to retaliate. Like he'd said before and would be saying for a good long time; he was an idiot. He wasn't suicidal.

-;-

"Told you so." Clint said smugly as the pair descended the ramp onto the runway in Korea, bag in hand. As he'd thought, there had been a public threat to a rather high up family, and they were being called in for protection against said threat. The only thing was, no one knew who they were. Their descriptions had been changed for their own protection, and on the way over, Natasha had been given a brunette wig that fell to her ribs and blue contacts to wear while they were on duty. Clint, on the other hand, had simply been given different glasses and a suit to change into, to which the male had made a rather unpleasant face before changing into it. Luckily, it was looser than the standard suit, so he could actually move around and store smaller weaponry in the many pockets.

"Your point being?" Natasha asked, one hand raising to shield her eyes from the sun, looking for their ride.

"You owe me twenty." Clint replied smugly, adjusting his tie so that it was straight against his collarbone.

"It can wait."

"Of course. But I still won."

"You're such a child."

"And yet we've made it all these years." The archer teased, brushing against the redhead's shoulder as they came closer to the large and private building.

"Excuse me? Are you Agents Duncan and Finch?" a smooth baritone asked suddenly, almost causing Natasha to lash out with one of the knives hidden in the sleeve of her blouse and most likely take out something like a major artery. Clint, on the other hand, had simply stiffened before relaxing, and was the first to recover from the mild shock.

"Yes. I'm Agent Duncan, my partner is Agent Finch. I understand that you've asked for our help?"

"Yes. I'm Alan Bridge. I understand you both have been briefed on the flight over?" the larger man asked, his moustache moving ever so slightly as he spoke. Clint took him in, deciding several moments later that he wasn't a threat and nudging Natasha subtly to get the point across.

"Of course. If you wouldn't mind, we'd like to get down to business. We take our jobs very seriously." Natasha said briskly, tucking the briefcase she'd been issued under one arm and shifting her weight onto one hip.

"Of course, ma'am. Right this way. The client has sent a vehicle." Alan said graciously, moving to one side and motioning towards what appeared to be a Ferrari of some kind that the pair of agents knew probably wouldn't hold up well in the long run if there was any kind of conflict. "As I'm sure you're aware, there is a party tonight at the home, and unfortunately, there cannot be any cancelations, given that there are going to be delegates from several other countries present. I'm sure you can understand how much importance that this holds to the client?"

"Mhm." Natasha hummed lowly.

Great, Clint thought to himself. Now this guy'd pissed off Nat, and it had barely been more than five minutes since meeting him. This had to be some kind of record. Mind, he probably wouldn't bring it up with her until they were back in their small apartment, but he would not forget this record-breaking event.

They reached the car, and after piling in, pulled away. Natasha and Clint were both uncomfortable in their seats, being unused to feeling so open. Usually, their clients would send a vehicle that was actually reinforced somehow, so that there _wouldn't_ be as much of a chance at getting killed.

Yeah. Because odds of being killed were _always_ reduced when he and Natasha were involved.

-;-

Chaos.

Complete and utter chaos.

As the pair had suspected, there had been a leak in security, and before they'd been able to put an end to that bullshit, there were men dressed in black everywhere. Natasha had been separated from her partner within the first thirty seconds of gunfire breaking out, but given that Clint was one who tended to work better from heights, she wasn't overly concerned. What she was concerned about, however, was the lack of information that they had on the enemy. All she could tell was that there had to be at least a hundred of them, and that they all appeared to be heavily armed. Whether or not they knew that she was one of the agents brought in to protect the client remained to be seen, but for the moment, all she really knew was the thrumming of her heart and the twinging of her muscles as she drew her pair of guns from beneath her loose gown and began opening fire on the targets.

Meanwhile, Clint was otherwise occupied, holding back a good number of these rogue agents with just his bow and a set of throwing knives. He was thinking more along the lines of how he was going to not get seriously injured, considering that he'd literally brought knives to a gun-fight, but for the moment he was faring decently.

Pushing through the many layers of people, he gradually made his way back to the other room, where he knew Natasha would still be. Some kind of sixth sense told him that much.

However, just as he managed to reach the entrance of the room, there was a gigantic, shuddering explosion that rocked the foundations of the building around them, and Clint instinctively knew that it was going to crumble.

"_NAT!"_ he bellowed, just as a torrent of concrete and wood came down on top of the entirety of the room.

-;-

Natasha dizzily coughed, blinking her eyes several times in a futile attempt to look around her. Vaguely above her, she could make out the small, glittering lines of stars that stretched across the sky, and for a moment couldn't quite grasp why she could see stars when she was clearly indoors.

Flashing lights burst across her vision, closely followed by the familiar logo of SHIELD, and the redhead coughed again as she attempted to alert them to her position. Shifting, she hissed as every inch of her ribcage protested the motion, and she coughed again, earning a particularly bright light to shine in her eyes.

"We found her, Director!" someone called.

_Clint…where's Clint? _She thought tiredly as thuds rumbled in her ears. Something must have damaged them, she thought to herself, but then again, it could just be her.

"Hold on, Widow. You're going to be fine." Someone said soothingly before there was a prick in her arm and everything around her ceased.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own Avengers.

**-;-**

She woke in the dark, surrounded by beeping machines and the slow dripping of IV lines. It took several long moments- too long, in her opinion- to orient herself, before shifting under the thin medical grade sheets that always itched in the wrong ways, assessing how badly she'd been injured this time.

Maybe a couple broken ribs if she was lucky, broken wrist, fractured wrist, likely a concussion since she was already feeling generous, and the usual array of bruises.

Of course, this was all normal for someone like the Black Widow, and it only took a handful of moments, coupled with deft fingers, to remove the IV and stand, wincing only slightly as her bruised and cramped limbs stretched out.

Natasha glanced over the room, noting immediately that apparently SHIELD didn't deem her someone of interest- no guard detail, this time. Luckily enough for her. Also lucky was the fact that there was a pair of loose lounge pants and t-shirt left over the back of an all too boring standard black chair. It meant she could get out of her less than comfortable state and into something that was more suitable to her tastes.

Stripping off the open back hospital gown, Natasha pulled on the clothing and shifted experimentally, pleased that they'd managed to figure out that she preferred lounging clothing over jeans and a tank top. The last morons to do that had met with unfortunate ends to their careers.

…Actually, now that she thought about it, they _had_ been Stark's employees. Maybe the billionaire had had something to do with it. Highly unlikely, but possible.

"Well, you just don't stay down, do you?"

"Stark." She replied tonelessly. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear..._

"The one and only." The billionaire replied charmingly. "How do you feel? You were a bit of a wreck when SHIELD dumped you on my doorstep."

"I've been better." Natasha shrugged vaguely. "Where's Barton?"

The shift in Stark's mannerism was immediate. His shoulders hunched slightly, and his eyes flicked away from the redheaded assassin's own. The posture in it's entirely made her uneasy.

"Stark, where is Barton." She said again, firmer. Already, her mind was producing scenarios that ranged from likely to rare and back again. And none of them were good.

"Uh, about that…" Tony muttered quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Natasha, Clint…he didn't make it. You were the only one who made it out of that shitshow alive."

No.

Lie. It wasn't possible.

But looking at Stark and his reaction to the statement, she could tell that it was true. He wasn't lying. Clint was dead.

Clint.

Visibly, she was still composed, but inside her mind, everything was falling to pieces. Clint was dead. Gone. It just didn't seem real, as utterly ridiculous as it sounded. She'd always thought that other people who said it were morons, but now it was her saying it.

"You're lying." She said quietly. At her sides, her hands slowly clenched in an attempt to calm herself down, even if marginally. After several seconds, however, she felt her nails puncture skin, and knew that she was about to have an emotional breakdown. She knew that she had to get the hell out of here or risk causing a lot of damage to a lot of things, somewhere in the back of her mind. But at the moment, all logic was thrown out the window in favor of simply letting go of all of her control over her usual composure.

"I'm not. You should know by now I don't lie about this." Tony replied, just as softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There was nothing you could do." She replied coldly.

Ignoring the flinch that the tone brought on, Natasha straightened her back and moved past Tony and out into the hall of the Stark Tower medical centre. Instinctively, she followed familiar pathways down to the elevator and then further into the depths of the tower, hunting out the three training rooms that had been designed and built specially for the pair of assassins.

Also somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that the rest of the team would no doubt seek her out and offer their own condolences, if not to stop her from harming herself. After all, the Black Widow wasn't exactly known for self control once she managed to get worked up.

Lying. Had to be lying. It wasn't possible. Clint was stronger and smarter than that. He wouldn't have been killed in something that minor. They'd made it through so much worse than that with far less serious injury. He was fine. He was alive. There was nothing wrong her. All just a nightmare. She would wake up in another twenty minutes and he would be sitting there with that obnoxious fucking smirk on his face and mock her for her bedhead or some other such thing.

"Natasha!"

Great. Just great. She already knew whose footsteps those belonged to, and if there was one person that she wanted to see the least, it would be Captain America.

Ignoring the call, she punched in the override code to the door and slammed it closed behind her, punching in her own personal code that would lock the door from the inside. And considering that Stark had reinforced the doors, no one was going to be getting in unless she let them. And _that_ was not going to be happening any time soon.

"Natasha, let me in!"

Like hell. She though to herself. She had no ties to the man. Hell, the only time that she'd ever even communicated with him had been during the whole Loki apocalypse. Since then, nothing. And she had no plans on re-kindling any communications with him now, of all times.

"Natasha, it's Steve."

"I know exactly who it is." She growled to herself, stalking over to the wall covered with weapons from all over the world. Eyes roaming over the massive collection, the redhead grabbed something that looked vaguely sword-like before turning on her heel and throwing it at the door. With a heavy _thunk_, it embedded itself in the thick metal and shook with the force of the vibrations before stilling, and silence fell from her irritating guest on the other side.

"Was that necessary?"

She was going to kill him. Slowly, and with great pleasure. Was the hint not subtle enough for him, or did she need to get a collection of throwing knives and stick them into his chest for him to get the goddamn message?

Snarling, she swung back around, looking for the cameras she knew were in the room somewhere. As soon as she found them, she grabbed the nearest weapon on the wall and threw it.

With a shower of sparks, the small electronic exploded.

She did this for the next five that she found before finally turning her sights on the simulation system. As soon as it powered up, she adjusted the settings to high difficulty and got to work, going after everything with savagery.

"_You know, I didn't peg you for the one who would have the breakdown." _Stark's voice said over the communications speakers.

"Stark, I _will_ kill you."

"_You think that you're the only one who happens to be suffering? You almost took Capsicle out with that sword thing." _

"He was irritating." Natasha growled. "As are you."

"_I try." _

"Unless you want me to hunt you down and rip you to shreds, I suggest you shut the fuck up."

"_Fine. We're all upstairs if you need anything." _

"I won't." the redhead promised, lunging after her next target.

**-;-**

"Capsicle, we've got to talk." Tony said as soon as Steve stepped out of the elevator. "You do realize that you can't actually reason with a pissed off Widow? She'll kill you."

Steve leveled a deadpan stare at the billionaire before shrugging. "Someone has to make sure she's alright." He reasoned.

"Dude. She just lost her partner. And is in denial, by the looks of things. Do you really think that you'll be able to get her to calm the hell down just by following her around when she clearly doesn't want anything to do with anyone?" Tony frowned.

"I agree with Tony." Bruce agreed, looking up from his cutting board at the counter, where the man was currently preparing to cook some dish or another. "You have to give her a little space, Steve. She's probably not going to come out of the room for a while. Plus, she needs to work it out."

"I can't do that." Steve replied stubbornly.

"Okay Steve. You go near her, she'll kill you. You can go right ahead and take that damn risk. I don't care." Tony finally huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation before moving over to his liquor cabinet. "I'll just be over here with my well known friend Whiskey."

Steve and Bruce looked over disapprovingly, but after a long moment Bruce just sighed and shook his head ever so slightly. Apparently, it would be more effort to try to stop him than to just let the billionaire do what he wanted. Steve, however, curled his lip and turned on his heel, headed back towards the elevator.

"Your funeral!" Tony called after him.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, the pair shared a look, Tony's shoulders slumping.

"God, still doesn't seem real." He muttered.

Bruce nodded in agreement, though he didn't look up from his pepper. "I'm just worried about what this means for the team." The scientist said softly. "Natasha might actually snap and do something that she'll regret."

"I know. Jarvis is keeping an eye on her for me." Tony assured. "He'll let us know if she leaves the building or tries to hurt herself. Also if she tries to destroy my cars."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not." The billionaire shrugged. "But still. We're going to have a lot of work ahead of us if we want to get Natasha back on her feet after this."


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: **Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah. I don't own the Avengers.

**-;-**

Steve Rogers was many things.

Patriotic, calm, political, able to hold his own in a fight…

But there was one thing that the famous Captain America was not, and that was good in assisting distraught women.

Natasha Romanoff being one such women.

After all, she'd just tried to kill him. Through a half foot thick reinforced steel door. With a sword. If that didn't scream upset, he didn't know what did.

But still, there was what Stark and Bruce had said- maybe he should let Black Widow let some of her anger out before trying to talk to her.

…No. He couldn't do that. She needed help, and he was going to help her.

Shifting his stance against the wall, the blond moved back down the hall towards the training rooms. More specifically, Training Room Two.

**-;-**

Her knuckles were bleeding.

Actually, her arms were bleeding too.

The room around her was all but decimated. Pieces of splintered wood and weapons surrounded her prone form, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Hot tears streaked across flushed cheeks, shoulders shaking silently.

Gone.

Gone, gone, gone, and there was nothing she could do.

"Natasha?"

"What the hell do you want from me, Rogers?" she snapped back, barely lifting her head. _God_, did he not know when to shut up?

"Can I come in?"

"No." she intoned.

There was a heavy knock on the dented door, then the sound of the man on the other side attempting to force the locking system on the door to snap. It wouldn't work, of course- this was Stark they were talking about, after all- but he was trying anyway.

"Natasha, let me in!" Steve ordered sharply from the other side of the door, anger in his tone.

Rage sunk into her chest, hot and dense and boiling.

Before she fully comprehended what exactly she was doing, her fingers slammed the code into the computer, and then she was pinning Rogers to the ground. Her bloody nails dug into every vulnerable inch of his skin, seeking out every nerve and muscle she knew would cause maximum pain, and when that was done, she began throwing heavy punches.

Steve was yelling beneath her, wriggling in an attempt to get away from the harsh abuse he was recieving. Despite being a super soldier, it seemed that even he wasn't immune to the Black Widow's attacks.

Finally, heavy metal was hauling her off of him, dragging her away from her punching bag.

Snarling, she turned, clawing at the metal of Iron Man's forearms before wriggling out of his grasp and latching onto the nearest limb. Every nerve straining, she threw the suit over her shoulder and into the wall before rolling her shoulder and taking a deep breath. Clarity returned to her mind, but there was nothing but a cold detachment lingering there.

"Leave me the hell alone." She stated icily before turning and stalking back into the training room, effectively escaping from the group of people that she really had no want to see or talk to. Slamming the door behind her, the redhead stalked over to the far wall, seeing no need to take the time to lock the door as she was fairly certain no one would dare come in. Other than Rogers, but she highly doubted he would be much of a nuisance for a while.

She'd really decided to go down the road of insanity, hadn't she?

The short bark of laughter came out of her throat before she could stop herself, and she couldn't stop for several minutes before her laughter turned back to sobs.

**-;-**

"I went to the store. For twenty minutes. And in that time, you're telling me that Natasha completely kicked Captain America's ass and did the same to Iron Man when you went to help?" Bruce asked as the small band of men stood in the kitchen upstairs. Well, Tony and Bruce were standing- Steve was sitting on one of the bar stools with a first-aid kit and tending to several gouges in his arms. After no reply came, the scientist sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"He started it." Tony muttered sulkily, looking very much like a toddler who had been scolded for taking the cookie jar. Crossing his arms, the billionaire leaned against the counter, sending a dark look over to Rogers. "And not only that, but we warned him that this would happen. Guess what, Rogers? It did. And I even managed to get caught up in it because I happen to have a conscience."

"I never asked for your help."

"No, but you almost got yourself killed by the unbalanced super assassin- who, by the way, single-handedly destroyed one of my training rooms- and to be honest, Rogers, you're starting to make me wonder if you're the one we should be worried about. You got a fucking death wish or something that we don't know about?" Tony snapped back.

"You practically gave me your blessing to get myself killed if I so desired, Stark!" Steve finally yelled back, eyes spitting sparks. "If you've got a problem with that, too bad!"

Tony growled lowly in his chest, looking thoroughly tempted to attack the blond, before he shoved himself off from the counter and walked stiffly over to the elevator.

"Sir?" Jarvis inquired as the doors slid open with the soft click.

"Don't." Tony snapped, stepping inside.

As soon as the doors closed, the billionaire punched the smooth metal wall of the elevator.

He couldn't believe all of this. It was completely and utterly fucking unbelievable, the way that everything was playing out. A day and a half and already everything that the group of people had gone through in the last eight months was being ripped out from under them. All of the timid friendships that had begun through everyone were quickly going to disintegrate if this type of behavior continued, starting with the Widow.

"Sir, are you sure you do not need me to call Miss Potts?" Jarvis asked.

"Positive. She and Happy deserve their weekend vacation." Tony sighed, leaning against the wall. "No, I just need to get out of here."

"Very well, Sir."


End file.
